Wit'ch Fire: Book One of the Banned and the Banished

Excerpt from Wit'ch Fire's Prologue: Page 3

"Only because they have held off renewing." Greshym sighed. "But they will. They will be forced to try. Eventually even the hand of your brother, Shorkan, will fade. When I last saw him, the Rose had already waned to a feeble pink. Barely enough power for one decent spell. Once that is gone, he will be forced to reach into Chi himself, to try to renew, then he, too, will lose his hand."

"Shorkan knows this. The academy in the neighboring valley -- "

"Foolish hope! Even if he should find a student who is still blood-red, of what use is one child's fist? It would take a dozen mages fresh to the Rose to drive off the force out there. And what of the other hundred battles going on across our lands? We're besieged by the Gul'gotha's Dreadlords from all fronts."

"He has a vision."

"Posh!" By now, Greshym had returned to face the fire, silent for several breaths, then he spoke to the embers. "How could three centuries of civilization vanish so quickly? Our spell-cast spires that once reached to the very clouds have toppled to dust. Our people rage against us, blaming us for the loss of Chi's support and protection. Cities lie in ruin. The feasting roar of the Gul'gotha echoes across the countryside."

Er'ril remained silent. He squeezed his eyes closed when a horn suddenly trumpeted across the valley. A Standi horn! Could it be?

Er'ril swung to the window, and almost fell out of it as he leaned into the night, one ear cocked to listen. The horn again split the night. Even the distant drums of the Black Legion seemed to falter a beat. Er'ril spotted a commotion by the northern campfires. He squinted, trying to pierce the night's blanket. A roiling of activity disturbed the firepits, then for just a heartbeat, outlined by the camp's cooking fire, the rearing of a chestnut stallion. It was Shorkan's steed!

The night swallowed away the sight before Er'ril could tell if the horse was mounted by one or two riders. Er'ril struck the sill with his gloved fist.

Greshym was already at Er'ril's shoulder. "Is it Shorkan?"

"I believe so!" Er'ril pushed away from the window. "Hurry below! He may need assistance."

Er'ril did not wait to see if Greshym followed as he rushed from the room and pounded down the wooden steps of the inn, leaping from the last landing to the main floor. Once his feet hit the planks, he charged across the common room. Makeshift beds lined the wall with bandaged men occupying nearly all of them. Normally, he would stop beside a bed and place a hand on a knee or exchange jokes with one of the injured. But not now. Healers stepped aside as he burst across the room, and a posted guardsman swung the door wide to allow him outside.